Resolution
by Ly Merrick
Summary: In which Santana and Rachel have never met, until Rachel Berry is at her wits' end and living in New York. Depressed!Rachel falls in love. Two parts, Pezberry.
1. Rising

**Title**: Resolution

**Synopsis**: Rachel Berry doesn't want to live anymore. She tries to die quietly, but a stranger named Santana Lopez won't let her. AU Pezberry, in which they have never met until the moment Rachel is ready to die.

**Rating**: M for suicidal themes, language, and sex.

**A/N:** I was watching a preview for a film and got the random inspiration of a suicidal Rachel Berry. Rachel is _always _the person saving everyone else - what if she needs to be saved? This fic puts that research question front and center. Just two people who happen to cross paths and the very human struggle of surviving in a passionless modern day and age.

###

1. **Endings**

_"It's precisely the disappointing stories, which have no proper ending and therefore no proper meaning, that sound true to life." - Max Frisch_

The laugh that exploded from her lungs was full of loathing. Of course. First, she had lost her job on Broadway because she wouldn't let the producer fuck her, and now she'd lost the guy who claimed to love her because he found someone 'less ethnic,' someone his mother would approve of. She was a little Catholic girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, a fake tan with the fake breasts to match. That's how it worked, didn't it? There were no modern love stories, no successes, no knight in shining armor. It was struggling to make a pay check and finding solace in love that you convinced yourself actually existed. Depression had begun to claim Rachel Berry six months ago. The doctor prescribed her Zoloft and called it a day. The Zoloft barely helped. So here she was, in the middle of December, shivering outside her apartment and listening to New York's late night hustle and bustle. She could almost hear the regret in Finn's voice, but she'd learned he was very good at pretending.

"Send me a wedding invite," Rachel had never been very good with sarcasm. "I'll send you my new address just as soon as I give a shit." Before he could respond, she hung up the phone and deleted his number. It's not like she'd really believed that love lasted forever, but she'd hoped. It was just a mistake to pin those hopes on someone who couldn't understand what day of the week it was unless he looked at his Power Rangers calendar. Her stomach churned with a kind of sick feeling, and suddenly she felt empty. Tapped out. There was nothing left.

On her way home, it was as if every step hollowed out her insides. Occasionally people would bump into her, careening with laughter inspired by friends or by Jack Daniels, other times they would grab at her and ask for money. What a pathetic state of the world. Most were homeless, others were too privileged and drinking themselves to death as if they had a reason to be sorrowful. In the city that never sleeps, there were a million lost souls and half of them wanted to die.

It was a cynical viewpoint. Rachel wondered if the girl she had been in high school - optimistic, full of dreams - was really as deluded as she seemed in retrospect or if she was just a miserable person now. It disgusted her. There was no sorrow, there was only pessimism and discontent. A sort of sucking emptiness biting at her heels with every step. She didn't even feel the cold anymore, and as she moved down her block and unlocked the door to her sub-par apartment, Rachel knew she was going to try to die tonight. She didn't want to go out with a bang, didn't want to make anyone worry about her. She wanted to go out with a whisper, wanted to fall asleep and never wake up.

She wondered if her fathers would recognize her now. Dark circles under her eyes, she stared at the stranger in the hallway mirror. She kicked her shoes off, threw her coat carelessly at her feet. Feet dragging, Rachel Berry made her way to the bathroom to figure out what it was that she could use to meet her goal. Not allowing a moment to examine the dead expression in her eyes, she wondered how she would explain this in heaven. It wasn't because of Finn, or because of losing her job that she wanted to die. It was because she'd simply realized there was no _meaning _and no purpose to existing. She was only taking up space, air, muddling through crowds of mindless Americans on a day to day basis. They were all trying to convince themselves that they mattered, that they had some unique purpose for existing. She smiled, full lips curving in an ironic expression. Rachel laughed, sighed, and opened the medicine cabinet. She didn't take time to look at the pill bottles. She really didn't care what the labels said; as long as it was prescription, taking too much of it should do the job. Rachel didn't lack in medication, either. Pain pills, anxiety pills, anti-depressants shelved from 'trying them out' and finding none of them made her believe in a happy future.

People, Rachel thought, didn't die when their bodies died. At some point, it was their souls and hearts that gave out first. The body followed. She walked her corpse to the bed, sat down, and dumped the pills out. Beside her bed, a stale glass of water sat, and she took a fistful of medication, swallowed. Another. Swallowed again.

It took her a half-an-hour to get sleepy. There was some nausea and vertigo, and then darkness. A flash of regret, worry; what would her fathers feel when they found out what had happened to her? In her head, she sent them sweet apologies, told them she'd taken the only way out.

###

One didn't 'wake up' when they were dead. At least, she was pretty sure people didn't wake up anywhere. Rachel Berry was no expert on the afterlife, but she was pretty sure they didn't rouse to the sound of a machine sucking at them, gagging on a tube. Tears in her eyes, she felt whatever atrocious machine it was rolled away from her bed as the nurses and doctors crowded around her. Hands pressed at her wrists, one against her jaw.

"Rachel," the voices were so far away. Further away than she'd ever imagined. The former Broadway star felt as if she was down a very long tunnel, water rushing her way. "Rachel, if you can hear me I need you to squeeze my hand," men in white, women in blue. Rubber gloves, the smell of sanitizer and lemon. "You're going to feel very sick in a moment."

Less than, actually. Rachel doubled over and her stomach forced out every last bit of its contents into the bag next to the hospital bed.

"You're lucky your neighbor called the police," another doctor was speaking distantly as a nurse wiped Rachel's mouth delicately and helped her lay back down. "You were only a few moments away from succeeding at what you were trying to do." Funny, even in the hospital they didn't even want to talk about death. Rachel would have laughed if she didn't feel so damn sick. She couldn't help but feel relieved for a moment. At least her fathers wouldn't think they had failed her in some way. It was nobody's fault. The horrible emptiness was gone, but Rachel felt she'd been a few moments from paradise, and that neighbor had pulled her back into the wretched and very real depths of Hell. "Can you speak?" The doctor was feeling her throat again, his rubber gloves unpleasantly grazing her skin.

Rachel nodded, worked her sore throat for a moment. "Yes."

The doctor nodded in affirmation, wrote something down on a clipboard. "I'm afraid that we're going to have to keep you for evaluation," the funny thing, Rachel thought as this man spoke, that he didn't sound afraid at all. Nor did he sound sorry. He sounded like he was reading a list of ingredients off to his wife. She'd laugh if she could have.

The former Broadway star felt tired, and closed her eyes. Beside her, a nurse tried to rouse her, but she smacked away the hand at her shoulder. She heard the woman clear her throat uncomfortably. "If you're not going to let me die, at least let me sleep."

The doctor muttered something to another nurse, and they began to wheel her out. Maybe this was death, or a punishment. Or, most likely, it was a sad reality. Rachel Berry hadn't succeeded at maintaining Broadway stardom or achieving a happy ending with the man she wanted it with, so why would she succeed at ending her life?

God, she was a dark person these days. As the nurses closed the door to her room, she noticed the bareness of the space, but most of all thought it ridiculous they also felt the need to remove anything she could potentially "finish the job" with. She didn't think anyone would be dumb enough to try and kill themselves with a registered nurse keeping an eye on them. It took her a while, but she managed to fall asleep.

As Rachel woke the next morning, she wondered if anyone had recognized her, and if she'd see her face in the tabloids under the title "Broadway Star hasn't recovered from downward spiral! Attempts suicide!" There wasn't anyone visible watching her, but she knew there was a nurse looking in on her at the very least. It seemed a strange treatment, to leave a suicidal person alone. To make them feel watched. Rachel felt a sort of quiet disdain for all of this, and sighed. There must be something to get her life back from this horrible state. Her eyes shut, and she hoped she would feel less miserable if she gave it a few moments.

The sound of footsteps roused her from momentary silence and something like inner-peace. "When can I get out of here?" Rachel asked before opening her eyes. A male nurse, gave her a half-smile.

"Not sure, Miss."

Rachel sighed.

###

2. **Introductions**

_"Basic human contact - the meeting of eyes, the exchanging of words - is to the psyche what oxygen is to the brain. If you're feeling abandoned by the world, interact with anyone you can." - Martha Beck_

When they finally allowed Rachel to go home, with a slew of new medications to try out, she felt as if she'd made no progress at all. She hadn't managed to die, and had only added her hospital bill to the bills she would have to pay. The former Broadway star made her way into the elevator, seeing familiar faces step in and out on the different floors. There were four apartments to a floor, and Rachel had known most everyone. She was sure she looked a wreck, but everyone was too polite to ask her what had happened to her. She kept her brown eyes cast to the ground, and when her floor finally came up, she stepped out and did her best to hurry to her apartment. Funny thing was, sleeping in a hospital should make you want to not sleep for a couple days, but right now all Rachel could picture was her warm, comfortable bed. She fumbled with the key, sighed heavily as she dropped them, and bent to pick them up.

"Do you need help with that?" A voice sounded behind her. It was smooth, but somehow had an earthy rasp to it. Something indescribable. One thing was certain, Rachel had never heard that voice before. She turned around to find a concerned gaze looking in her direction. The person who stood in the formerly unrented apartment doorway had thick, black hair, sun-kissed skin, and darker eyes than Rachel thought she may have ever seen. Her mouth went dry at the sight of her new neighbor.

"N-no. I'm fine," Rachel mumbled, managed to unlock her door, and found herself glancing back. "Are you just moving in?" The question spilled from her lips, and she saw the new neighbor smirking slightly.

"Yeah. I moved in yesterday," those dark eyes searched Rachel, made her feel vulnerable. "I'm Santana."

Nodding quickly, Rachel glanced at the floor. A safer place than anywhere else to look at the moment, "Rachel," she bit her bottom lip, eyebrows knotted together in thought, "it was nice to meet you."

"You too," the clear but subtle amusement in Santana's voice was the last thing Rachel heard before she shut the door.

For that one moment, she'd forgotten how desperately she hated being on this planet.

###

When it hit the tabloids, Rachel was the last to find out. One had been dropped at her door, her picture plastered all over the front. The article was titled, "Suicidal Broadway Star: Former Assistant Tells All!" Janey. Rachel knew she should've never hired that mousey girl. She hadn't trusted her from day one. Yet Rachel had quite realistically had nobody else to count on. The professional situation had ended badly, mostly because Janey had been caught trying to steal numbers and contact information from Rachel Berry's quite extensive black book. Rachel wondered if anyone had seen it, and she hoped not, because as soon as she tore down the tabloid from her door, she'd seen photocopies of her hospital records. Quite the violation of privacy by the hospital, but Rachel couldn't bring herself to care. She left the wrinkled paper by her door, and closed it.

Just as Rachel sank into bed, a knock sounded at the door. Grumbling, out of the range of whoever was knocking at the door, she buried her face in the pillow. "Go away." There was no one who had reason to knock at her door. So, of course, someone was knocking at her door. This time, Rachel raised her head from her pillow and yelled, "Go away!"

Another knock.

Furious, Rachel threw her sheets haphazardly from her frame, and stomped rather dramatically toward the door. She all but tossed the door from its hinges.

An amused smirk greeted her first, along with a throaty chuckle. Dark eyes grazed the short-statured diva, the way her shoulders must have been thrown forward, nostrils flaring.

"S-..Santana," the sight of the new neighbor caused her to forget that she was really angry at someone interrupting her walllowing session. She must have been a sight, short stature and nostrils flaring. The sharpness fell from her tone, the tension easing in her shoulders. "I'm sorry I thought you might be ... "

"No you didn't," her new neighbor gave a privately knowing smile before she motioned behind Rachel. "Can I come in?" She lifted a magazine in her hand, the one that had previously been taped to the door, as a gesture. Santana seemed to be considerate in that she wished to talk about the discarded untruth, but not out in the hallway though they were the only two residents on the floor.

Rachel's eyes darted to the magazine once more, swallowed, then nodded. A gentle whiff of perfume followed Santana's entrance. Something slightly musky and sweet. And maybe a hint of shampoo. "You uh .. have my magazine."

"You didn't seem to want it," Santana was smirking in a gentle way. Those incredibly intense dark eyes seemed to be urging Rachel into opening up. There was a directness, but also a softness. "Cover story sucks," she arched a manicured eyebrow.

Rachel cleared her throat, "Yes, well, it's all quite untrue, isn't it?" The shorter girl suddenly made herself busy, cleaning up this and that, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with water for her neighbor. "Please, have a seat. And uh...give me that." She stepped forward and snatched the magazine out of Santana's hands.

"Is it true?"

"No."

"Hm," Santana, obviously not sold on Rachel's denial. "We don't know each other that well."

"We don't. However you seem quite nice and such," the brunette responded, avoiding those dark eyes at all costs. "So you uhm .. just moved here?"

"To the building, yeah. New York, no. I lived over in Brooklyn with my ex-girlfriend, until she broke up with me for another dancer."

Rachel nodded simply, quietly, and sipped at her drink. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's alright," the concession was simple, and a silence fell between them. The Latina seemed interested in Rachel, watching her with a quiet gaze. She studied her in a way that suggested more to what she wanted to say. "Tell me about you," her tone, or rather her voice, sounded silky. Comforting. She could see how, in a different situation, it might sound naturally seductive.

"I used to be on Broadway, but I just lost the job recently."

Nodding, Santana eyed the trash can in which the magazine now lay buried. "So I read."

"The director," Rachel rolled her eyes, "hit on me. Since the show hadn't opened yet, he figured I was fool enough to sleep with him." Proudly, Rachel puffed out her chest slightly and took a breath, which deflated the prior.

"Figures."

Nodding, the shorter girl found the courage somewhere to look up at the kind eyes examining her.

"Are you okay?"

Rachel wanted to laugh, or cry, because nobody had asked her that in the longest time. She didn't really have very many friends in New York. Kurt, her best friend, hadn't made it out here yet. She would talk to him on the phone as often as possible, but that wasn't very often these days. "I don't know what it means to 'be okay,' honestly," she did laugh, sardonically. Almost bitter.

After some time, Rachel realized she was still the only one standing. Santana had been sitting on the couch, looking kindly and intimately at Rachel, mere inches away from her. It was the proximity that spoke to some premature familiarity. A physical comfort overcame Rachel at the nearness of this new and apparently trusted acquaintance. If she had not trusted her, she wouldn't have spoken so honestly about not being okay. Then again, maybe it was the fact someone had noticed just enough to ask. The brunette sat carefully beside Santana, stared at her hands for a few moments.

"My boyfriend broke up with me the same day I lost my job. I'd been depressed for so long, I just, wanted it all to stop," Rachel whispered the words like a confession, closed her eyes. She felt a warm and timid touch at her wrist. The warmth of it was like being bathed in sunshine for the first time since winter began. Complying to the gesture, she moved her hand ever so slightly to allow the hand to slip over her own. It felt nice there. "So I took too many pills. I figured it would work. I only felt bad that my fathers wouldn't understand why."

The silence wasn't oppressive, like she might have expected it to be. She felt the pad of Santana's thumb stroking her hand, a gesture that ignited a need deep within her. Human contact. It had been so long. Rachel opened her eyes, felt them drawn immediately to the dark ones staring directly back at her. A flame had started, in her heart and elsewhere. It had been so long since anyone had really talked to her, touched her skin, comforted her. Her cheeks flushed and she found she could not maintain the heavy eye contact for very long. Her eyes dropped again.

Rachel took a breath that was decidedly shaky and felt fingers urging her palm open and the pads of Santana's fingers tracing over her wrist. "So I guess that's the story. You know more than anyone else." She felt she should find it strange to be talking so intimately with someone who she had only really just met, but she couldn't find it strange at all. While the intensity of fingertips at her pulse on her wrist was new, it didn't feel invasive. Santana had earned instantaneous trust. She felt a tug at her wrist, and just as her eyes came open she saw her neighbor pulling her forward. Arms wrapped around her before she could register anything else, and the warmth of them made Rachel breathe in sharply. Her hands hovered in the air around Santana's waist, unsure of whether she should be touching this person, but she found her hands falling to the curve of her hips and _clutching. _Hesitantly burying her face against the taller woman's collarbone, the first thing she noticed was the smell of her. It was a sort of earthy musk, mixed with something Rachel recognized as _Juicy Couture_ perfume. Her eyes fluttered shut and she breathed. For the first time, she felt like she was really breathing. As the palms at her back began to smoothe over her shoulderblades, she could sense every muscle within her awareness relaxing. Had she been slightly more receptive and less timid, she would've felt the goosebumps erupting across her back.

She breathed, something between a sigh and a hum. Santana's dark hair feathered across her view as she opened her eyes, and Rachel decided she had to ask the woman where she got her shampoo from.

"Thank you," Rachel whispered, and found herself half-pressed against the Latina's torso.

There was a near-audible smirk in the answering voice, "My pleasure."

**3. Rising**

_"The atoms become like a moth, seeking out the region of higher laser intensity." - Steven Chu_

Within a month of their burgeoning friendship, Santana had suddenly become the focus of Rachel's attention. Likewise, it seemed that the Latina found any excuse to spend time together. They spent every Sunday night together tuning in to _Real Housewives of Atlanta _and other shows on Bravo, having reached the conclusion that they had reached the level of addicts.

Since that first meeting, there had been a sudden and intense bonding, a natural trust that seemed to develop between them. Late nights sipping at their wine had lead to sharing of secrets only told to the closest and most trusted people in their lives. Santana had a natural intensity to everything she did, and often times Rachel found herself watching the woman doing the simplest things - sometimes the way her eyes burned with concentration made Rachel feel as if she couldn't look away.

Rachel's introspection ended somewhat unceremoniously as her name was called. She had spent the last week going to auditions for off-Broadway and Broadway plays that were in production, starting from the bottom all over again. What she hadn't expected, however, as she gazed out at the small handful of people watching her audition, was Santana. Somehow, the woman had found out about today's audition and there she was, in the third row back with a quiet smile on her face the second she realized Rachel had spotted her.

A nervous fluttering manifested in her stomach. As Rachel closed her eyes, she could feel the warmth of those eyes upon her and her voice filled her. She began performing the song she'd prepared to showcase her talents, what other than "Defying Gravity" from _Wicked. _Suddenly there was no audience at all, only Santana watching her. A friend, a trusted person who had become far closer than she'd ever planned.

Her nervousness gave her a focus, gave her an intensity of concentration that knotted her eyebrows. Her voice became its own entity, became a manifestation of everything she'd been reconciling within herself since her suicide attempt. By the end of the performance, tears had filled her eyes, and the small audience and the producers were on their feet, whistling. Rachel saw them, bowed her head with clasped hands, and let out an emotional laugh as she moved off the stage once the uproar had calmed.

As she caught a shaky breath backstage, grinning from ear to ear as she still heard the occasional whisper and murmur of the audience and the producers, and felt her heart pounding. She didn't know if it had been Santana's presence, but suddenly she was floating. She could remember what it felt like to be happy and she had the Latina to thank for it. As she came from backstage and rounded her way to the theater seats, she found Santana standing calmly a few feet from her, waiting.

Rachel crashed into her. Her arms wrapped around the taller girl, and she had all but thrown herself into Santana's embrace. She buried her face in dark black hair, breathed in the familiar perfume, and let the tears fall. She wasn't feeling emotional because of the fact she'd likely nailed her first job. The shorter diva was crying because she had been through hell and back, and what was more, she'd recovered with the help of someone who cared about her. She clung shakingly to the Puerto Rican, and felt fingers knotting delicately through her hair.

"You okay?" The warm voice was like a flame, catching near her ear and spreading heat through her neck. Rachel nodded. She didn't want to let go, but nonetheless she slipped from Santana's grasp and stood clutchingly to her, eyes locked on the taller woman.

Rachel laughed, final tears slipping from her eyes, "I guess I forgot how good it feels to just perform. And have someone who was watching."

Santana answered with a warm chuckle, and her fingers moved over Rachel's jaw for the first time since they'd become friends. The spark of skin brushing over skin made Rachel's heart jump as if she'd been shocked. She took a breath, found those penetrating dark eyes staring down at her. Rachel wasn't the only one who looked a little breathless. Just as Rachel's mouth fell agape and she was about to speak, a producer rushed over to her and animatedly began to shake her hand, effectively moving her away from the embrace she had lost herself in.

"Miss Berry, knowing both your past achievements and your Tony nomination, I can say personally that you are a shoe-in for this role. We would be honored, simply _honored _to have you with us. Now," the stout man's buggy eyes darted around, "I can't make any official statements of course but ... we will be calling you soon." Excitedly he shook her hand, and his colleagues called him over for the next audition, though everyone's attention still seemed to be on the phenomenal performance Rachel had just delivered.

"Come on, _Miss Berry, _let me take you out for dinner." Santana smirked down at her, warmly, and nudged her. They linked arms immediately after, and Rachel clung to the arm offered her and pressed her face against Santana's toned bicep.

###

The smile that answered Rachel when she had thanked Santana for being there was welcome enough. "I couldn't believe you were just sitting there."

"I saw the schedule on your fridge the night before," Santana explained through a mouthful of cheesy ravioli pasta. Dabbing the corner of her mouth, she swallowed and looked up at Rachel. "I figured I'd never seen you really perform before so I wanted to see you audition. You were ... " Santana shook her head, seemingly speechless.

Rachel flushed, glanced down, "Thank you," her voice was now softer than before, and she felt those dark eyes boring into her intensely.

"I'm lucky to know you," Santana's voice was quiet, and it caused Rachel's blush to grow into a deeper red. The slight seductive tone made her heart throb a bit, and the diva could not help but look up at the eyes that were searching her.

Sipping at her wine, she turned her gaze to the table to ease the pure emotion surging through her chest, and the perplexed feeling that followed every time Santana focused on her. This friend had become the one person Rachel depended on for everything - human contact, comfort, assurance, support. She had become, effectively, the closest person to Rachel.

Dinner finished out in relative silence, and they left arm in arm, both full of to many words to speak.

###

When they arrived, there was a feeling that neither wanted to part company. So Rachel ended up in Santana's apartment, swaddled in mounds of blankets alongside the Latina, watching movies. The shoulder pressed against her own was warm, and she couldn't help but rest her head in the curve of Santana's neck and shoulder. Naturally as it could, Rachel's arm slipped around Santana's stomach and she breathed. It always seemed that she was able to breathe easier when she was with this woman. This person who had become more important than she could word in such a short amount of time.

"I'm lucky to know you, too." Rachel whispered as Santana disentangled herself just long enough to turn the lamp off and return to Rachel's side, pulling Rachel back into her arms and pressing her forehead to the top of Rachel's head. Her breath caught as she felt the brush of lips against her temple, Santana breathing warmly against her skin. Eyes fluttering shut, Rachel wrapped her arms around Santana's neck and pulled her body so it was flush against Santana's. Friends. Or more. She didn't really care what the implications were to their intimate exchanges, spending more time embracing than most average friends. She could feel Santana's touch at her waist, her fingers slipping up Rachel's back and pulling her in tight.

Heart swelling, Rachel knew if she opened her mouth all the wrong words would fall out. So instead she buried her head against Santana's neck. They operated above rules, above norms. They only answered to gravity, a force that was far more intense the closer they found themselves to one another. Santana took one arm far enough away to wrap them both in the blankets once more though they had enough warmth to keep them comfortable between them.

Too many urges pulled at Rachel's attention, so she settled for brushing her fingers over the back of Santana's neck and feeling the Latina's breath hitch against her chest.


	2. End

**Title:** Resolution

**Synopsis:** In part I of II, Rachel Berry didn't want to live anymore. However, after a hospital stay she meets an enigmatic person who becomes immediately an integral part of her life. In part II, they've become closer than Rachel would have expected and things begin to evolve beyond her or Santana's control.

**Rating:** M for suicidal themes, language, and sex.

**A/N:** So, I'm back to this story because I was driving tonight and listening to music, and that always makes me feel like writing. I just thought of Pezberry, and how much I wanted to finish this short 2-parter. There's something really lovely about this story that even I never expected to create. I hope you all enjoy the last part to this tale.

###

**4. Climax**

"_Silences have a climax, when you have got to speak." – Elizabeth Bowen_

"Let's go out." Santana looked deliriously happy to suggest this. Rachel had opened the door to find the Latina standing there, dressed to kill in jeans and a black beater. With the curve of her hips, it was hard to pay much attention to anything else; she had to resist the urge to reach out and run her fingers over that curve before pulling her into the apartment. "I really wanna go out tonight and you've never been to my favorite bar."

Rachel had been having inappropriate thoughts about Santana for a good week now … or more. Depending on what you defined as inappropriate. She figured that Santana had caught her staring a little too much at her thighs or hips, because sometimes she'd see the dark-eyed girl smirking at her when she realized that she was staring.

"Yes? Out?"

The now-working Broadway star nodded, realizing she'd again lost herself in ogling her very good friend. "Of course. I haven't been out in a long time. At least not to a bar, since dinner with you doesn't count."

"Oh, thanks," Santana laughed a little, pretending to be insulted before moving into the apartment. "Go get changed into something really sexy," the words came easy for Santana, it seemed, but Rachel was a little more reluctant to say things that were suggestive in this way. Santana thought she was sexy.

Rachel blushed at the implication, closing the door to the apartment and glancing at the brunette. "Must you be so demanding?"

"Always have been," the answer came with a low-toned chuckle.

It was hard deciding on something satisfactory; Rachel Berry was picky and she was sure that she would feel decidedly unsexy beside Santana until she had a couple drinks in her system. Judging from the Latina's attire, they were going to a dance club. Probably a gay club. Rachel's heart pounded a little faster … maybe they'd end up dancing together? They hadn't been in a situation that was overtly sexual in any way, and if so dancing would be the first of these. Rachel held up a couple different shirts, looked at skirts and shoes, and could think of nothing that seemed 'sexy.'

Apparently impatient, Santana had come into the room. Her reflection startled Rachel. "Can't find anything?"

"I don't think I look sexy in any of these," Rachel murmured as she pulled the edge of her hoodie down over her hips, feeling a little overexposed in just her underwear and the hoodie she'd been wearing.

Santana laughed. As the raven-haired Latina examined Rachel, and then her clothing selection, she quickly came up with something Rachel wouldn't have picked out. She retrieved a black A-line skirt that showed a good portion of Rachel's thighs, handing her the garment in a way that said 'put this on,' and kept looking for a shirt. Soon she'd found a white blouse, handed it to Rachel, and started rifling through her necklaces.

Rachel got dressed while Santana was turned around, feeling vulnerable but somehow thrilled at the fact of being in this particular situation. She must have buttoned her blouse up too high, because when Santana finished draping a silver necklace around her neck, she spun Rachel around gently by the hips and gave her a once-over. Rachel felt everywhere Santana's eyes lingered. Her heart jumped into her throat when she felt fingers moving across her collarbone, fixing her shirt. Santana began to unbutton the last buttons Rachel had reached, and the shorter girl wondered what was going through Santana's mind.

For a second, her brain flashed the image of her own hands stopping Santana's and going in for the kill. Flashes of bare skin, lips matching each other. She'd probably stopped breathing, but felt the warmth of Santana's fingers leave her skin. "All done."

She was spun around to face the mirror, and aside from her hair, saw a sexified Rachel staring back at her. "Oh."

"Damn right," Santana murmured, her eyes darkly reflecting back at Rachel. "Let's go, I wanna get you drunk."

She couldn't tell if her friend was kidding or not, but she didn't want to think too hard on it. Rachel found herself smiling. "Let's."

###

The music was overpowering. Rachel could feel it travelling through her feet when they walked through the door. Lights flashed brilliantly, bodies moved and writhed, and the feeling was overwhelmingly vibrant. The energy was unmatchable. She felt Santana clutch her hand to move them safely through the crowd together, and giddiness washed over her as she looked around.

"Shots!" Santana yelled, mouthing the word a second time and miming the action. She showed Rachel how to do what they called a 'Brooklyn Hooker,' and by the time they'd done two or three Rachel felt herself flushed and a little tipsy. Finally, Santana seemed satisfied with the blood alcohol level between them and ordered a sweet drink for each of them.

They didn't hit the floor right away. Santana was leaning against the bar watching the crowd, and Rachel found herself doing the same until she realized that more than half of the time, Santana was looking at her. A spark lifted itself between them and made Rachel's stomach flip. She sipped her drink and tried to calm herself. There was something else in Santana's eyes today that was a little more than friendly. It was almost predatory.

Now she realized why Santana had wanted to bring her to the gay bar; this was her element. This was where Santana seemed more confident than ever (if possible). She felt a warm hand slip up her arm before guiding her away from the bar, a mouth near her ear half-yelling, half-speaking, "Let's dance!"

Rachel was definitely tipsy, because she felt herself swooning as Santana guided her hips to Rachel's. She lost herself in the movement, in the feel of moving so closely with Santana, dancing freely in a mass of bodies. She laughed aloud more than once, and as Santana's smirk turned into a grin, Rachel dipped her head against the warmth of Santana's neck. At some point, she lost track of the crowd and could only feel Santana's fingers sifting through her hair, her fingers sometimes grazing the back of her neck.

She didn't know if it was the alcohol, but she felt warm all over. Something in her wanted to take charge, so it did. Rachel caught Santana's hand and dragged her through the crowd, back to the bar, and ordered two more drinks. When Santana had moved to speak to Rachel, the brunette caught herself staring at the Latina's lips, her hands, and again the curve of Santana's waist, hips, and thighs.

"Do you really think I look sexy?" Rachel found herself asking, first too quietly to be heard and then picking up the habit of customers in any loud bar, she pulled herself closer to Santana and spoke against her ear. Rachel's hands found Santana's hips, probably fell a little too close to her ass, but she didn't move them. In fact, her fingers clutched a little to the firm body in their reach. She pulled away, eyebrow lifted a little in question.

Santana's smile came out of nowhere, and that supple bottom lip slipped out of sight. Not giving Rachel the satisfaction of an immediate answer, Santana seemed to lose herself in finding a way to give a good one. Rachel narrowed her eyes playfully before retrieving their drinks from the bar, handing Santana hers.

Putting off her immediate wants, that's what Rachel had to learn. She sipped at her drink, took a seat on one of the bar stools, and let her eyes wander the crowd. It had slipped her mind that she was wearing a short skirt until she felt fingers glide up her thigh; she heard herself gasp before glancing up. Santana had set her drink down and was trailing her fingers over Rachel's thigh, gently prying the diva's legs apart, and moving forward. _Jesus Christ, _Rachel blasphemed, noting the irony of a Jew thinking that first. Santana moved with purpose, her fingers stopping just short of the edge of Rachel's skirt and the diva thought her friend had certainly noticed the line of goosebumps there. _I'm definitely not really breathing, _the thought came and went.

This was her answer, for sure. She felt herself swooning inside as Santana seemed to drink in the sight of Rachel. "What do you think?" She'd moved close enough for Rachel to hear her.

As Rachel nodded, she felt her heart pounding. Santana's fingers were tracing the deep-cut line of her blouse, between her breasts without being particularly intrusive. There were waves of dizziness.

Santana retreated almost as quickly as she had come, taking Rachel's hand and leading her again into the crowd. The whole night went like this, drinking and dancing, playing with one another in ways they wouldn't have if they were anywhere else.

###

Rachel didn't really remember getting home. She woke up in her hoodie and boyshorts, and Santana was sprawled beside her. It must have been late-afternoon. The brunette wondered if anything had happened, remembering snippets of Santana toying with her, getting her a little too warm, and touching her thighs at the bar. Had anything come of the flirtation? Did it mean anything?

She tried not to worry. She'd make breakfast instead. Rachel heard the padding of footsteps down her hall about thirty minutes later, just as she'd finished plating a hearty breakfast for the both of them (vegan, of course). She was humming to herself when she heard Santana's warm voice greet her.

"Morning."

"Hey," Rachel tried not to blush as the raspiness of Santana's voice made her think of the night prior. "I figured this might keep away any hangover."

"Yeah, we drank a lot," Santana poured herself some orange juice; the diva liked that she made herself at home here. "How's your head?"

"Good." She sat down on the stool beside Santana, and they ate in relative silence. She wondered if she should say anything, ask anything, or just pretend they hadn't spent the whole night before trying to turn each other on. What did this mean for their friendship?

"D'ja have fun last night?" Santana spoke with a mouthful.

Rachel laughed at the sight, "I think fun is an understatement."

Santana nodded, another mouthful piled on a fork.

"Thank you for taking me," Rachel had finished not long after, and was washing her plate when she spoke her gratitude.

The Latina touched Rachel's back, grazed the curvature of her lower back as she put the plate in the sink, "We should do it again sometime. When you're not at the studio practicing your Broadway junk."

"We should."

"Gonna go brush my teeth. You wanna hang today?"

"Please," Rachel felt the word came out a little more pleading than she'd intended, but as she met Santana's eyes she saw a responding need there. Something that said last night wasn't just alcohol and playfulness.

She watched the Latina leave before she decided she'd stay in her pajamas today. She showered and changed back into them, brushing her teeth and tying her damp hair into a ponytail before plopping herself down on the couch.

"Bravo," Santana requested as she came back into Rachel's apartment, "There's a marathon on today.

Rachel grinned, "We are of one mind."

Something felt different as Santana covered them both in a blanket and pulled Rachel to her side. More flashes, ideas, and Rachel would dare say desires. At some point she became conscious of Santana's hand stroking her side, the warmth of Santana's skin near her cheek. The brunette reached up, traced her fingers over Santana's shoulder and collarbone, skipping over the fabric of the Latina's tank top.

"Last night … "

"Yeah?" Rachel breathed, nervous at the beginning of Santana's words.

"You asked if I really thought you looked sexy, but you didn't ask me when or in what."

A nervous laugh came from Rachel, and she buried her face against Santana's neck, listening for the continuation.

"Do I make you nervous?"

The _question _made her nervous. "I mean … sort of. Like this. When we're like this. But you're .. you're like my best friend," she spoke her words quietly, afraid to look into Santana's eyes.

"Bad nervous?"

A shake of the head, Rachel tried to let the scent of Santana's slightly damp hair and the fresh scent of shampoo soothe her nerves. As her fingers traced along the Latina's skin, she found a brave place within herself and started to push Santana's tank top aside, leaving bare shoulders, sun-kissed skin. She watched the vein in Santana's neck pulse quietly, a reminder that this attraction wasn't one-sided. Rachel pressed her lips softly there, fingers trailing over the bare skin of Santana's shoulder. She didn't know where the bravery came from, but suddenly she was lifting her leg over Santana's lap and straddling her waist, leaning down and pressing her lips to Santana's throat.

"Now who's nervous," she heard Santana say.

"Would it make you nervous to say I really like your hands on my skin?" Rachel had never felt quite so powerful as she did in this moment, pulling away to look at a clearly lustful Santana. She ground her hips down a little bit, encouraging a reaction – a groan – from Santana.

"Not nervous … "

Rachel moved her lips along Santana's throat after this, catching her earlobe as the trail ended, lips grazing the sensitive skin, feeling Santana's fingers clutch at her waist. "I need you to kiss me like you wanted to last night," the words came from somewhere deep and primal, somewhere that left Rachel throbbing though she was the one that spoke them.

Santana left no room for any more discussion as Rachel pulled away only slightly, kissing Rachel in such a hungry way that Rachel had to moan a little in between. Santana's hands wandered over Rachel's ass, squeezed in such a way that made Rachel grind down against her. "I'm not going to be able to stop here," Santana said, breaking the kiss momentarily, breathing heavily. "Is this what you want?"

Rachel let her lips hover a breath's distance away from Santana's, dragging her bottom-lip against Santana's, "What do you think?" The blanket had fallen from them, and she took Santana's hand in hers, guided it underneath her hoodie and to a breast. The feeling was so sensual that Rachel nearly burst as Santana's hand kneaded the skin, found a nipple and rolled it underneath her thumb. Her head fell forward against Santana's neck, and she bit back a moan as Santana continued to be just rough enough with Rachel's nipples. It wasn't enough for the Latina, who tugged Rachel's hoodie over her head; those dark eyes got darker somehow, before Rachel had to close her eyes at the sensation of a mouth latched on to her skin. "Fuck," she whispered, tangling her fingers in Santana's hair. She was rocking a little, getting too turned on to do anything else with Santana's hands kneading her ass and her mouth exploring her nipples and the goosebumps along her breast.

The exploration became mutual as Santana picked Rachel up and brought her into her bedroom, Santana's tank top slipping off her shoulders and eventually winding up on the floor. The sound of Santana's gasp was intoxicating as Rachel teased the Latina.

It became too much for Santana. The Latina was kissing Rachel's thighs before Rachel could protest, and suddenly Rachel felt things she'd never imagined before; Santana's talent was extraordinary and she knew it. Rachel was writhing under Santana's oral ministrations, crying out, and somewhere along the lines she felt like she was really seeing stars. "D-don't… don't stop," Rachel heard herself saying, rocking into Santana's fingers and her tongue, begging her not to, even though the Latina was clearly drawing her climax to an unbearable peak. "I need .. n-n.." Rachel was panting, pleading.

When she had gone over the brink, come back, and gone over again, she finally found the strength to top Santana. She'd stripped the girl bare of her clothing and surprised the Latina, who ended up begging just as heartily. "Come here," the request had surprised Rachel as she made her way up Santana's body, kissing her way along the trail of her ribs, breasts, and eventually her lips, catching them in a slower kiss as her fingers touched the deepest places inside Santana. When Santana came, she cried out and arched against Rachel's body, trembling all over. Rachel held the clinging Latina, kissed her back to planet earth.

As they lay entwined, naked, blissful, in the quiet of the evening, Rachel sat up a little, looked down into Santana's blissful gaze.

"I love you."

The words surprised them both. Rachel's eyes teared up a little, "Really?"

Santana nodded, looking equally emotional. Those dark eyes glistened.

Rachel leaned down, catching those full lips in a kiss that lasted for some time. When she pulled away, she smiled as large as she had ever smiled, "I love you."

###

**5. Falling**

"_All I'm saying is that I don't want to sort of fall in love with fifty different people. I'd rather find one person and fall completely, deeply in over my head."__ – Anna White_

They were out to dinner the night after Rachel's premiere on her current project on Broadway when she caught Santana staring at her above the top of her wine glass. When Rachel caught her, Santana only smiled quietly and set her wine glass down.

"I've been thinking."

Rachel loved the earthy tone of Santana's voice as she spoke. She only sipped at her own wine, swished the flavor over her tongue, "Hmm?"

"What if I sell my apartment?"

Rachel felt a little panicked, "But what .. I mean .. we live next to each other and where would you move to, I like being able to … "

"I like waking up next to you."

Rachel lost a little bit of her breath, then blushed as she realized what Santana was proposing.

"If I can get out of my lease, I want to live with you. If you think you're ready, 'cause I feel ready and you know I'm the real commitment-phobe here," Santana's dark eyes shone in the dim lighting of the restaurant, hopeful. When Rachel looked in those eyes, she felt something deep stir within her to this day. "Rachel, I know it's a big deal," Santana must have mistook Rachel's stunned silence for hesitation, "but I wanna wake up next to you. I wanna eat breakfast with you every morning without having to get up out of an empty bed. I wanna fall asleep with you … _every night. _I wanna make decisions about decorating together and sneak a puppy into our apartment and … "

Rachel felt warm tears in her eyes, let out a throaty laugh. "Our apartment? You really want that?"

Santana looked a little embarrassed and Rachel suspected she'd never expected this of herself. The Latina nodded, and reached across the table to take Rachel's hand in hers. "I didn't think this would happen when I met you. I just knew you made me feel … something. Looking at you, I felt a kind of shock like … I dunno, like the universe hit me over the head. I still get that feeling sometimes, like when I wake up and you're buried against me in bed."

Rachel squeezed the fingers clutching her own before feeling a distinct urge to tackle Santana in a joyous hug. Instead, she waved to the waiter, requested their bill. She didn't take her eyes from Santana's, felt her heart hammering with a mixture of emotions. Once they'd gotten up and paid the bill, Rachel clutched Santana's hand in hers as they walked up the block. Rachel felt stunned to silence.

"So is this a yes?"

Rachel stopped in her place, glad that for once a New York sidewalk wasn't teeming with people, and grabbed Santana's face in her hands, kissing her passionately and with all the love in her heart. Her lips hovered near afterward, warm tears in her eyes again, "Yeah," the whisper was heavy-laden with emotion and Santana seemed to feel the same, her eyes glistened.

"Jesus," Santana whispered back, kissing Rachel again, "I love you," her arms wrapped tightly around Rachel, the brunette felt Santana bury her face against Rachel's neck. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

It's what Rachel had dreamed about her whole life. Finding someone who loved her so much that it made them feel overwhelmed with emotion. "Santana Lopez, you better love me, 'cause you're not getting rid of me now."

"Damn."

The laughter spilled from Rachel before she squealed in surprise, felt Santana pick her up and throw her over her shoulder. "What are you doing, Santana!?"

"Taking home my prize."

"Put me down!"

"Nope."

She didn't. Not until she unlocked Rachel's apartment door and dropped her on the couch, straddled her, and kissed her like she meant it.

###

When Rachel got home from a show one night, she found Santana baking brownies, covered in the baking ingredients, and she tried not to laugh at the fact that Santana (who was not a good cook) was clearly trying to be sweet.

"Honey, what are you doing?"

"Making you brownies." Santana looked at the clock. "Damn. Damn. I wanted them to be done before you got home."

Rachel laughed throatily, setting her purse on the counter before she brushed her fingers over Santana's powdery face. "Sweetie," she was charmed, adored the Latina in front of her, the way her black hair hung over her shoulders, the tan of her skin underneath the powder, her dimples, everything about her. Overwhelmed with feeling, she kissed Santana slowly, embers stoked over a fire. "What would I do without you?"

"Die," Santana winked. She lifted Rachel onto the counter and eventually they forgot about the brownies.

###

It was snowing in Central Park one morning and Santana had been insistent on going for a walk. Rachel thought she was crazy, but since her show had wrapped days earlier, she didn't really have any other plans. Snow in New York was a beautiful thing when you went to the right part of the city.

As they walked, she rubbed her gloved fingers over Santana's and thought it strange that the Latina wasn't saying much.

"Is everything okay?"

"I'm in love with you. Like … hopelessly. Like those stupid romantic movies where the person says they can't spend their life with anyone else?"

Rachel was caught off-guard, glanced beside her at the beautiful (and clearly shivering) Latina. Santana was bundled in a coat and her scarf only hung around her neck.

"God, please tell me this is a mutual thing."

Rachel laughed, "Oh," spoke sweetly, "I can't imagine my life with anyone else. I want to be with you til you're tired of me."

Santana looked surprisingly relieved, "I've never…really let myself open up for anyone and ... Jesus, fuck, whose idea was it to walk in this cold weather?"

Rachel laughed, wrapped her arms around Santana's neck, and tipped them into a snowdrift. "It was yours, dumbass," she laughed, then kissed her shivering lover. She got up afterward, and realizing Santana was out of the snow and ready to get revenge, Rachel ran, laughing through the trees. "Santana Lopez, you be nice!"

"I don't know what that even means!"

Snow pelted Rachel in the back, the arms, the legs, until she finally caught Santana from behind and jumped on her back, "You're such a bully!"

"Only for you, baby."

###

**6. End**

"_Everything has to come to an end, sometime."__ – L. Frank Baum_

Santana hadn't come home yet, and Rachel was starting to get tired. She'd said she was going out to get something, but wouldn't tell Rachel what it was. Just as the Jewish diva was about to call her girlfriend's phone in a panic, the apartment door clicked and opened.

"Hey, sorry, traffic is shit." Santana swept Rachel up in her strong arms, kissed her slowly.

There was a lump in her pocket pressing against Rachel's hip. "Baby?"

"Hmm?" Santana looked dazed from the kiss.

"What is that?"

A slow smile spread across her lips. "Close your eyes." Santana's fingers were gentle as they guided Rachel to the couch. Santana lay the mysterious thing behind her, from the sound of something being set on the coffee table. Her warm hands rested over Rachel's, traced up her arms, and Rachel felt warm lips on her cheeks, her eyelids, her forehead. "You're beautiful, and every day I ask myself how in the hell I got so lucky. You've come a long way, become so much happier with life than you were when I met you, and I never, ever want to imagine my life without you."

Rachel opened her eyes, saw a teary-eyed Santana watching her.

Santana seemed out of breath as she held something in her palm, clicked it open. "Marry me."

Tears welled up, and Rachel dropped her head against Santana's neck.

"Is that a yes?" Santana sounded just as emotionally, her voice gravelly.

Rachel nodded, pulled away, and kissed Santana hard. "Yes," she breathed afterward, laughing tearfully before Santana practically lept on her, straddling her lap and kissing her, that thick black hair hanging around Rachel as they kissed.


End file.
